


Lillet

by Janissa11



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-17 14:58:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janissa11/pseuds/Janissa11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's an electric blue cube, and he's watching it.</p>
<p>Sequel to "Stanislavski."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lillet

It's a fucking blue cube.

Lights up, looks pretty, shoots a few sparks when Selvig gets creative.

He's been babysitting the Blue Cube of Wonder for a week now. At first he thought it would be interesting. Different, at least. But it's mostly just the same as the other fucking babysitting jobs. It glows and sparks when the phase of the moon turns or something. And that's all it does.

He's up high, partly because ever since he got back he's had to remind himself who Clint fucking Barton even was and part of that was to remember Hawkeye, eyes up high with a gun, only not.

Partly because they expect him to be up high. It's what Barton did. Does.

He's up high and watching and Christ almighty, it's like the song said, millwork it ain't nothing but an awful boring job.

Took off William David Brandt like last year's suit and put on Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye. It's like wearing someone else's clothes, only it's someone else's life and he'll get used to it. He will. Just takes some time. That's all.

He watches Selvig coo to his electric square baby bird and leans his forehead against the cold metal railing.

When he finishes his gig tonight he'll rack up some time on the range. He's not rusty, not really, but there are moments when he looks at the bow in his hands and thinks it's a prop, part of a Halloween costume, something.

The Electric Acid Kool-aid Kube spits a spark, and Selvig crows. Baby's first word.

Ethan never knew about the bows.

Someone calls Selvig's name.

Clint closes his eyes.

~~~~

_From Seattle there is Helsinki, eighteen hours of sunshine and if he'd had time, the Finnish version of Fire Island, if a bit cooler. The job is easy, even with all the gun-waving. No masks. He passes for Finnish, and although Ethan expects to take point, it's Brandt who has the Finnish grandmother and enough language skills to impress Benji._

_"You do realize, right?" Long-fingered hand waving imperatively, stopping whatever William was going to say. "You do realize, you take a breath right in the middle of your sentences?"_

_"What --"_

_"And you keep talking! While you inhale! It's brilliant! It's because the words are so long, right? No wasted time!"_

_He's grinning and looks so happy William glances at Ethan and Jane (who are laughing, too, probably at both of them), and then inclines his head and says "Kiitos" while inhaling, which sets them all off again._

_He makes the trade for the jewels with only a couple of guys shooting at him, and possibly a couple of adventures at Suomenlinna, and all in all it's a good job. The Finnish government gets their pretty shiny things back, Ethan gets to be cunning, Benji gets to be smart, and William and Jane get to look pretty and run very fast._

_There's the beach where William and Jane absolutely refuse to swim in the ice-cold water (again), Benji complains about missing the nudist island, and William watches Ethan's skin glow in the ridiculous sunshine and checks the Helsinki Craigslist on his phone._

_There are no messages._

_Clint turns off his phone and watches Ethan doze, and feels the cold prick of worry melt into relief._

~~~~~

Day eight of CubeWatch, and surprise, surprise, there is more blue light. And blue flashes.

Selvig isn't cooing as much these days. He's a little worried now, although he hasn't shared with Clint exactly why. Clint probably wouldn't understand, but he has eyes and a relatively well-functioning brain, and he's pretty sure Selvig doesn't know what the shit this thing is gonna do, either.

Pretty damn sure he heard Selvig talking to one of the other science guys about gamma rays. Those, Clint is confident, are bad. He's probably gonna babysit this shit until his balls fall off.

What the hell is he doing up here. Waiting. Waiting for what.

He wonders, sometimes, what would happen if he shot an arrow right in the center of the Big Blue. Would it blow up? Ka-blam, take out the whole place? Or just eat it, suck it up and never show a dent?

There would be time. He's fast. Faster than the numbnuts flatfoot guards they've got stationed around the thing. From up here, Selvig calls it his nest -- he could sink four or five arrows before anybody on the ground even knew he was there. An explosive tip.

Make a pretty electric-blue explosion.

"Barton."

He blinks, says, "Sir," before he even thinks about it. Almost feels normal now. Almost feels right.

"You're done. Walk with me."

If you know how to look, Coulson looks tired, although his back is straight as ever. Suit as immaculate. It's fooled a lot of people over the years. Used to fool Clint. Unflappable Agent Coulson, invincible Agent Phil Coulson, Phil who used to

Clint knows how to look.

"Gonna walk me home from school?"

"Barton."

One word, familiar warning. There are personnel in the halls. Fuck them.

"I'll bring some books next time. So you can carry them."

Coulson's eyes are still sharp, even when he's exhausted. He punches the elevator button six times, sharp stabs of his finger. Clint used to tease him for it. Doesn't make the car come any faster, sir. Plus you're just being mean to that poor defenseless button. Not its fault.

"Where are we going," he asks when they're standing in the elevator car.

"Patience."

They go to the barracks floor, and Coulson leads him to his own quarters. They're the same as Clint's, maybe a square foot larger. The locker's open, and Clint counts four black suits. Six shirts.

"The Avengers initiative will be moving forward." Coulson shucks his jacket, hangs it neatly on the back of the chair.

Clint leans a hip against the corner of the desk. "Why are you telling me?"

"Don't be purposefully obtuse. You'll be asked to participate."

"Little old me? Aw --"

Coulson's hand locks into the front of Clint's shirt, brings him up short. It's fast and still shocking, how the man moves. Elegant, and lethal. "I need your head back in the game, Barton," Coulson says, low and tight. "Stop fucking around."

"Ain't that your game?" Clint snaps. "Fucking around?"

He's released just as fast, like Coulson's burned by his proximity. "You're one of our best assets. You belong on the team."

"She belonged on the team," Clint whispers.

There is perfect ringing silence, and then Coulson sighs. It's a tired sound, matching the lines between his eyebrows, the parentheses around his mouth. He slips the knot of his tie and yanks it over his head, and opens the collar of his shirt while he takes the few steps that separate them. Clint can't breathe.

"I didn't kill Natasha," Coulson says.

"You gave the order."

"It was the only order I could give."

"Bas --"

"I had you assigned last year because I thought you needed it. Something different, something to use the skills we don't often ask you to utilize." Coulson meets Clint's stare steadily, keeps on unbuttoning his shirt. "It was never going to bring her back, Clint."

"She trusted you," Clint spits. "And you let her get killed and you didn't let me --"

"What?" Coulson asks. "What, Clint? I didn't let you go after her and just get yourself killed, too? Is that what I wouldn't let you do?"

His throat feels like he's just slammed a quart of hydrochloric acid, with a slice of lemon. He can barely force the words out. "She trusted me," he whispers. "She died -- she died thinking I'd have her six, and I didn't because you didn't let me."

There is a second when he sees pain in Coulson's eyes, some horrible gaping hole that has no bottom, just light-years of sorrow and rage and grief. It howls silently in Coulson's blue eyes, and then it's gone, tamped down, erased like Natasha Romanov, like every fucking atom of the trust Clint used to have for Phillip fucking Coulson.

It's all right there, then, it's two years ago and it's a year ago. Clint Barton and the woman he invited to work with him because he knew what it felt like never having anyone you could depend on, Will Brandt and Julia Hunt and pieces of a body he hadn't been good enough to save.

Julia isn't dead but Nat is, beautiful terrifying Natasha who he will not see again, and he's crying, oh goddamn it he's crying and Coulson's pulling him close and telling him he knows, he's sorry, and none of it fucking matters.

He falls asleep at some point with Coulson's hand in his hair, and the last thing he can remember is wondering if his head aches so bad because he's got two people in it instead of one.

~~~~~

_Ethan has an apartment in Basel. It's old, shabby-luxurious, and, he says, a gift from a friend._

_William nods and says, "Nice." Thinks, Some friend._

_Jane has gone stateside, for a family visit, she's said, although one never knows with IMF. Benji's in Paris, and there William knows it's IMF business. Everything's shaken, rattled and rolled since Ghost Protocol, and Benji may be a field agent now but you can take the boy out of intelligence but you sure as hell can't take the intelligence out of the boy. So he's doing that. Something. William isn't sure. Doesn't particularly care, either._

_He sets his bag by the sturdy wooden dining table and straightens again. "Tell me again what we're doing here?"_

_From what he assumes is one of the bedrooms, Ethan calls, "It's called a vacation. You know, days when you don't work. Run for your life. That kind of thing."_

_William stuffs his hands in his pockets for lack of anything else to do with them, and wanders over to the overloaded bookshelf by the cold fireplace. The books are dusty, mostly in German, mostly fiction. There are a few knickknacks, and nestled between a carved ivory tusk and a Lalique vase Will is pretty sure he sees an excellent copy of a Faberge egg._

_"It's not a copy," Ethan says behind him._

_He turns, eyebrows raised, and sees Ethan grinning. "It's real."_

_"No shit."_

_"None whatsoever. You want a drink?"_

_Ethan pours Lillet into glasses. It tastes like flowers on William's tongue. He looks out the window. The apartment is a stone's throw from the Basler Münster, and beyond to the Rhein. He has never felt so far from home._

_His mouth is dry. He drinks more flowery Lillet._

_"Penny for your thoughts."_

_"Don't you mean a franc?" He shrugs. "This is fantastic."_

_"What, the apartment?"_

_"The apartment, all of it. I mean, the contrast."_

_Ethan stands next to him, takes his empty glass and sets it on the wide window sill. The late afternoon light is generous on his features, warming his skin, forgiving the lines of care. "Don't you think we deserve a reward? Saving the world, all that?"_

_Will blinks at him. Ethan's words echo in his head. "Of course."_

_"I had an ulterior motive bringing you here," Ethan says._

_William feels his proximity like the beckoning heat of a fire. He has been here before, suddenly, although he has never seen this room. "Oh?"_

_"We're supposed to have dinner first. I have a place in mind. Little family restaurant. Very few tourists."_

_"We're tourists," William says faintly._

_"I don't care," Ethan tells him, and touches William's waist, beneath his jacket._

_"Yes."_

_Ethan's mouth is flavored like wine, and his kiss is sweet, a little hesitant. William tastes him and steps back, turning his head. "Your wife --"_

_"My wife is dead."_

_"She's not, she's --"_

_"Will."_

_Never once has Ethan called him by his first name. William pauses, and Ethan presses his lips against William's neck, over the throb of William's wild pulse._

_There is nothing hesitant about the second kiss._

_Ethan is nothing like the Secretary._

_Ethan is nothing like Phillip Coulson._

_Clint closes his eyes and feels Ethan's arms around his waist, listens to his low chuckle as he pulls Clint's shirt out of his pants and runs his hands up his bare spine._

_Natasha would be so pissed._

_Ethan is nothing like Natasha._

_They never make it to dinner. The next morning Ethan sneaks out and gets coffee and a fluffy Butterzopf and marmalade and cheese, and Will never bothers to get dressed. After breakfast Ethan spreads Will on the mattress and eats him out, all the time in the world, chuckling when Will writhes and curses and begs, and finally fucks him, laughing joyously when Will shudders and screams his orgasm into the pillow._

_Ethan is athletic in a way Will has never been, bruised and beaten and never truly cynical as Will in his moments can be. Ethan is glass half-full and Will's has always been nearly empty. They are absurdly different, and Will has never let go like this, never realized that he could._

_He knows why Julia was in love with him. She probably still is. Ethan doesn't let it matter. He lives in the moment, and drags Will out of the past into the gleaming light._

_After Basel, with no more jobs in the offing, there is calamari and Campari in Naples and in Capri there is rough red wine and apricots still warm in their paper cone._

_Munich and a full weekend at the Deutsches Museum, Will alone for once to simply wander to his heart's content. Sitting in wobbly metal chairs in front of a little cafe down the street from the Frauenkirche, Ethan listens to a message on a flash drive that melts five seconds after, and Will shrugs and says, "Where to?"_

_Ethan's grin is luminous. "No rush. We got a whole day to get there." Then he leans over their rickety table and kisses Will's mouth._

_The next day, there is an ad for a purple couch on the Osaka Craigslist._

_Ethan has to meet Jane's flight, start their cover. And Benji isn't here yet. It's easy to slip away. Clint makes his contact at 0900, and by 1100 he's in the air over Osaka Bay._

_He doesn't look out the window._

~~~~~

The next day the blue cube spits out a god, and then Clint has three people in his head instead of two.

END


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